Long way Home
by KrimsonKitsu
Summary: Formerly "Of Explanations and forgiveness" Spoilers for Season 6. What happens after the battles are done, how do you pick up the pieces?  Cas shows up in Bobby's junkyard, barely clinging to life. Each chapter switches POV. Please R&R
1. Of Forgiveness and Explanations

((This is kind of my little reaction to season 6 finale- major spoilers here, so just don't read if you care at all about preserving your innocence about what happened. I don't mention details here, but you get the gist... I just wanted to write something from Cas' POV... again, this may end up being a series if I get enough of a response to it.))

xXXx

There's no time to explain, nor to ask for forgiveness. Not that it'd matter, you wouldn't listen to my explanations and I don't want your forgiveness. (That is a lie- as you were so fond of pointing out- I'm a terrible liar.)

Even now, if I came to you, you would listen. Not until you tried to hit me a few times and berated me on the foolishness of my actions (as if I couldn't see that in every painfully vivid detail of the aftermath.) But in the end, you would have listened, and maybe if I had asked for it, you might have even forgiven me. But even if I had the time to sit down with you, I wouldn't ask. After all that I have done, the last thing I deserve is your understanding.

How I wish I had never stepped down this road. I did so believing that I could set your world right, to make your sacrifices _mean _something. How was I to know that it would lead to this? That I would become your last great struggle, that I, of all people, would be the one to betray you. I was meant to be your guardian, and I wanted to be your friend.

I wanted to protect you.

… Was this what you meant by irony? If so I do not understand the appeal. It is so very… bitter. To think that this is how I would end my days… alone. Hated by those who I care about. No chance to explain.

And we're back to the beginning. It seems that my dying brain is just running in circles. Perhaps now is when I'm supposed to say something to sum up my life; my choices, my victories, and _this…_ but I've got nothing. So I suppose, since I cannot see you in person, I can remember… and well, there is always prayer.

Not like that helped. Ever. But who knows, perhaps my final sentiment will get back to you somehow, so that you'd know that I died with your name on my lips.

I don't deserve your forgiveness... But, Dean?

… Please forgive me…


	2. Of Cas and Cats

When Sam or I get hurt, we have a routine. First, we make sure it isn't fatal, then we tease and joke and white-knuckle our way through a fifth of whiskey and some home-grown medical care. When we get sick, we hunker down in some back-end motel, snipping and bantering while we ride out the worst of it. (Due to our close living quarters, if one of us comes down with something, we usually both get it.)

But when Cas gets hurt, he gets quiet. Half the time, we don't realize anything's wrong until he keels over. I remember a few months ago when he showed up at our motel. The only way I knew he had been injured was the crimson stain peeking out from behind that damned coat of his. I barely had enough time to catch him before he dropped like a sack of rocks.

Sammy told me once that cats will not show any sign of physical weakness. He said that if they did, they risked being killed by their competitor's or even their own family.

I wonder if that's what Cas was doing. If so, that kind of pisses me off. It means that he didn't trust us, that he thought that we'd kill him if he ever became a burden.

And now… now he's laid out on one of Bobby's bed with such a stillness that I have to keep touching him to make sure that he's still alive. We aren't sure how or why he got this way. All we know is that within a week he went from being "God" to literally knock knock knocking on Heaven's door (or perhaps oblivion's door- I don't really know what happens to angel's when they die.) We don't understand it, and it's driving me nuts.

Sam's convinced that it's God-the real one. But I gave up on that bastard swooping in to the rescue a long time ago. I'd like to think that Cas dug his way out on his own, that maybe there is still something to save in him.

I want him to wake up soon, though Bobby doesn't think that he ever will. I refuse to believe anything like that. Cas is going to wake up. And when he does, I'm going to demand some answers, hell I may even take a swing at him- anything to remind us both that he's still alive.

"Any change?"

I jump at the sound of Sam's voice. He is standing by the doorframe, eying Cas' limp body warily. There is a new and improved wall in his head (courtesy of our currently out of commission ex-deity) but I don't think Sam's forgiven him for tearing it down in the first place.

"No," I reply, surprised by how hoarse my voice is. The silence stretches, so uncomfortable that I must break it. I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Cas is like those damned cats!" Sam's eyebrows rise but I can tell he gets the reference so I continue. "If he would have just come to us first off! Said something-" I stop as the guilt over my actions in the past year raises its ugly head. "He should have come back," I finish lamely, staring blindly at the comatose angel. "He should have trusted us."

Sam is quiet for so long that I'm sure he left. But when I look back, he's still there, shadows hiding his expression from me. "I don't know about then," he says suddenly, in a carefully constructed tone.

"But he trusts us now."

Okay, now I'm confused. "What the hell does that mean?" I demand. Sam gives me a familiar shrug- the one that means "I know I'm right and you just don't get how these things work." I hate that shrug.

"He came back didn't he?" Sam finally points out. "An injured cat doesn't go back to his family unless he knows for sure that they won't kill him."

This is one of those times that I'm truly grateful for my brother; perhaps because he's the only one who said "injured" …not "dying…


	3. Of Understandings and Silverlinings

Because I feel like, as secondary characters and the Winchesters' designated "fix-it" men, Bobby and Cas probably have a decent bond. One that isn't really explored often. So here's my attempt. Be prepared though... there's some serious Cas!Wump! in this chapter...

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The poor bastard.

If there's a silver lining anywhere in this, it's that Dean wasn't around when Cas woke up. It took three days and Sam's best cajoling to get Dean off of my property. (And even then, I still had to brandish my sawed-off to get him to start that damned car of his.) After two weeks of no change, Sam and I both thought that it would be best to get Dean out and hunting again- better than him pacing my halls and jumping at every creak with a sickeningly hopeful look in his eyes.

I knew deep down that if Cas came to, it wouldn't be puppies and rainbows. It was bad enough that he had subjected himself to millions of miniature nuclear reactors, but then having them (assumedly) ripped from him… Hell, I still don't get how he or his vessel showed up in my junkyard still breathing.

But it does make sense that he would choose to come here. Y'see Cas and I had a sort of understanding- spanning back to when he had first been cut off from heaven. During the entire year that his angel powers were circling the drain, he'd have good days and bad ones. On the good ones, he stuck around Dean and Sam mostly- or else off to find his long absent God. But on the bad ones… on those he would show up on my door, too winded and weak to do anything other than collapse into a chair and wait until he healed.

Dean and Sam don't really know about those days, Cas never wanted me to call them. The first time, he came to me so beat up that he had been forced to hitchhike to my house (lucky for him, those big blue eyes of his gains him sympathy pretty much anywhere.) To say I was surprised, well… perhaps the better term was furious. After leaving me in that damned wheelchair he dared to show up on my doorstep? If I remember correctly, I called him a useless bastard and told him to go get Dean or Sam to play nurse.

The look he had given me still makes me shiver. "Sam and Dean…" He had started, his voice dragging like rocks over a bed of glass. "I cannot find them… and… besides…" His knees buckled and I pointed to a chair next to him- one that he sank into gratefully. "They have enough to deal with."

I sighed, the angel had a point. Going to them would mean that he'd probably putting himself in danger as the idjits were always tangled up in something. So I tossed him a few bandages that I knew he wouldn't use and wheeled my bitter ass out of the room. Of course I started feeling like a jackass, so I returned in a half-hour to find him browsing through my bookcase with a curious look in his eyes.

We stayed up that night, and it was then that Cas was introduced to the wonders of late-night TV. He watched for hours, with a book of Nordic gods nestled in his lap. It was almost… normal, until I remembered that I was watching "I Dream of Jeannie" with a celestial being that was older than the human race.

This set-up became more and more regular as his powers weaned. His 'visits' were never long; maybe 5 or 6 hours. But I had really began to grow fond of the disheveled angel, with his clothes in varying states of disarray. I learned about his observations on humanity, and the physical world. I learned that he prefers a landscape covered in snow. And I learned about the human girls who kept trying to adjust his tie, and make the collar of his coat lie flat and give him their numbers when he was just looking for information. I remember laughing at the confusion in his expression as he told me that he had rejected them by explaining that he was a warrior of God.

And that makes this so much harder. Because now he is relying on me once again, and I don't know if I can patch him up this time. He's screaming- I've never seen him scream like that and now I wish I hadn't. His body's convulsing so much that I can't tie him down. He tried to be God and now his body is paying the price.

And so is my house. The bedroom I had him in is totaled. I nearly cut my foot on the broken glass that littered the floor as I tried to pull him out. The windows, the lights, hell even pieces of the wall have been obliterated. I ended up sticking him in the panic room, although in this case it's more to protect me from him than the other way around.

I think his voice is finally growing hoarse, giving out, but the attacks keep coming. Thank God that Dean isn't here. He seemed so desperate to believe that Cas would make some miraculous recovery… I don't think I'd have the heart to see his expression as he watched his angel die.

Some silver-lining.

... I'm so sorry guys... please keep reading... Bobby's kind of a pessimist...


	4. Of Matresses and Company

((Yup, Sammy's next. I don't think I've ever written for him... but yeah... I'm sorry in advance for the extra Cas!whump. He'll be awake for the next one... I think... ^^)

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It is so quiet. From what Bobby tells me, that alone is a small miracle. I've been sitting here for hours- the only way we could convince Dean to finally get some sleep was to set up some sort of shift schedule. That way, Cas would never be alone, when the time comes.

Dean still refuses to see it. He refuses to see the stillness that had taken hold of his angel. To see the shuddering breaths that wracked his body, the vessel. I can't help but wonder, why didn't he leave Jimmy's body, at the very least his death wouldn't be wracked with human frailty. I frown, watching his expression tighten and a thought strikes me. Perhaps he can't.

I know the truth, I was prepared for it the instant that I drove that blade into his back. Castiel, as we knew him, was gone. And I knew what I had to do. Dean would hate me, in fact, there's a good chance that he would never forgive me, but I knew what I had to do.

Cas' body jolts suddenly, effectively pulling me out of my thoughts. I feel a trill of fear shoot down my spine.

Now?

I grab his hand as a harsh cry rips out of his body. I can't risk going and getting Dean or Bobby and him dying alone. The thought of that would kill Dean. So the Angel of Thursday will have to die with no one but the man who tried to kill him for company.

I try not to think about the weight of what is happening. That a being older than I can comprehend was dying on a ratty old mattress in the house of a junk man in South Dakota. It felt so… wrong. To let a warrior of God die so broken and alone.

I close my eyes, hearing the rattling gasps that are coming from Dean's guardian angel, and wishing I couldn't. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be the one to watch him die. I may have tried to kill him, but I don't want to let him die.

I grip his hand tighter. "Don't you dare die, Castiel."


	5. Of Wisdom and Redemption

((Man… this chapter was hard… I'm so sorry for the wait and I really appreciate the reviews and faves. You all are amazing!))

xXx

I am alive… that alone is something of a miracle. I feel the scratchy cloth covering the thin mattress and hear the rhythmic hum above me… combined with the distinctive smell of dust, old books, and alchohol… There's only one place I could be, Bobby's panic room.

Another miracle. I have no idea how I would have ended up here. I wanted it more than anything, but my body was so destroyed that it wouldn't have moved a foot, much less to South Dakota. But if I hadn't gotten here under my own steam then how did I arrive?

My throat tightens and I shake my head weakly. How foolish of me to think of the Winchesters. How arrogant of me to think that they would still think of me enough to come looking for me. I finally open my eyes, my vision blurred and darkened. I can only make out a figure standing over me… I can only make out those eyes.

"Dean?" My voice comes out scratchy, so weak that for a moment I wonder if it's my voice at all. Those eyes definitely belong to a Winchester and I want it to be Dean so badly… I want to apologize to him before I succumb to that fearful darkness once more. I want to see him, even if all he feels towards me is hatred.

"Sorry to disappoint." It isn't Dean's voice, and I feel my stomach drop. Out of all the people who have a right to kill me without a second thought, Sam Winchester has the most. And it is Sam Winchester who stands before me now.

There are so many things I want to say. I want to explain, to apologize. I won't ask for forgiveness, but Sam… Sam deserves something. Actually he deserves more than I can possibly give him, but he'll have to settle for a weak excuse from a broken shell of an angel.

I open my mouth, but Sam stops me. "Don't… you'll only exhaust yourself," he says sharply. "Besides, I get it."

"Get… it?" I repeat weakly, whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. "But Sam-"

"Look I'm not saying that I've forgiven you, because I'm not sure I can do that just yet," he pauses and I steel myself for the tirade, the great condemnation. But instead, Sam only smiles sadly. "Yeah, Cas, I get it. You were faced against all this crap, and you didn't see a way out. Dean doesn't get it, because Dean's always just barreled through whatever stood in his way. He finds allies wherever he goes… he doesn't understand what it's like to be alone standing up against the end of the world. He doesn't understand how easy it is to lose sight, to fall down some dark hole, blind to the fact that you aren't saving anything- that in the end you just made things so much worse. So, like I said, I get it."

I look at Sam, finally understanding the guilt and self-hatred that he always carried around him- that had become a part of him.

I close my eyes, knowing that soon, my regrets would morph me into someone else entirely. Never again will I be able to act with such certainty, with such purpose. The only question remaining is whether or not I can survive the loss of that purpose.

"So why?" I ask finally, my body aching under the pressure of my question and the answer I might receive. "Why are you watching over me, if you haven't forgiven me?"

"Because…" Sam sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Because I can't condemn you without damning myself, and we both deserve redemption."

I fall silent. For one so young, Sam Winchester has become one of the wisest beings I have ever met.


	6. Of Lashingout and Who to Blame

((OMG I'm so sorry for taking so long, but it has been hectic as all heck. Please enjoy. Dean and Cas finally reunite, but it's far from a storybook.))

My chest hurts. Just seeing the blue of his eyes, hit me like a lead weight. I thought that in the end, when that awful stillness finally left his limbs, that I would feel relief.

He looks so wan, his skin white and stretched taut across his face, making it look all the more severe. He reminds me of the first time we met, back when I feared him. The circumstances were very different, then and now, but the feeling is the same. I can't help but feel powerless when our eyes meet, like this being before me holds all the cards.

Sam looks between the two of us, confused, waiting for one of us to speak. It would only be natural, I have hardly left his side after all. Sam is waiting for me to say something—to bring some sort of resolution to this whole mess. But there is a problem.

I don't know what in the hell to say.

Dammit, I don't even understand the feelings that are gripping my chest. But seeing him there, propped up against the wall, the only feeling that I could put a name to was rage. Pure unrelenting rage. The worst part… I'm not even sure who I am angry with.

"Dean."

My breath catches in my chest. I feel like a damned child, I never thought that I would hear that same familiarity color his voice, to hear him pronounce my name like it was something significant. It used to make me feel secure, knowing that he had my back. But now, all it does is fuel the fiery pit currently ignited in my gut.

I think he senses my anger, for his eyes are resigned, staring at me like I'm his executioner. As always, there is a strange depth of his gaze, like there is more going on than I can possibly fathom. He is waiting.

"So… was it worth it?" I bite out.

Dammit. I promised that I wouldn't do this. After years of having brotherly fall-outs, I swore that this would be different, that I wouldn't rub salt in the wound that had nearly killed him. But here I go, once again making things worse. I can tell by the way Sam blanches, that he was not expecting this turn of events, that he expected better of me.

Cas, for his part takes the barb like a pro. Of course by now he would be, considering all of the crap I've slung at him over the years. But I saw something flicker in his eyes, slam shut. He doesn't reply, he just keeps staring, still waiting.

It's infuriating.

The packet of rage in my chest explodes, filling me to the brim. It has been brewing for such a long damned time, and I'm not even sure who I want to direct it at. There's Sam, who's standing at the foot of the bed, eyeing me warily, like a protector, like he wasn't the one who drove an angel blade into Cas' spinal column. He should be pissed; he should be looking for revenge. I should be comforted, by the fact that, despite everything, Sam is still loyal to his friends. But, instead, the fact that he's in front of me, standing guard for his betrayer only makes things worse.

And Cas… oh, how I want everything to be directed at Cas. I wanted to take the angel, propped up so carefully on our bed, and beat the holy hell out of him. To repay him for the ass-kicking he gave me so long ago, to use the physical force to drive home the point that words could never express. Most of all I wanted to do something, anything, to erase that stupid look that I have never figured out—there's just something about it that rattles me to the bone. God, I wish I could hate him.

But deep down, I know that all of this rage was because of me. That it—all of it—could be traced back to me. I taught the angel free-will and then left him alone to drift.

We are still silent; Cas and I are staring at eachother, like we are trying to communicate without words (because that's worked so well in the past.) It's then that the realization hits me with such force that I actually stumble backwards. That look in his eyes, the one that had perplexed and pestered me from the beginning, suddenly made sense.

All this time, he was calling out to me to rescue him. Even in the beginning, he turned to me. And yet, I let him walk right into that ocean and drown himself, all in the name of good intentions…

Some "Righteous Man" I turned out to be.


	7. Of Goading and Barefeet

(Whoa... two chapters in two days :) Back to Bobby's POV... and if you are wondering why there is a distinct lack of Bobby's catchphrases well... I feel like over using them is just a cheap way to capture his characterization ((though I did toss in a lone "idgit")) I hope you like it and as always, I am so incredibly grateful for the reviews, faves, and alerts. You all make me so happy!)

xXx

I avoid my own upstairs like the plague. We moved him back there last week, making sure to avoid the room he totaled. And of course, by "we" I mean me and Sam—Dean won't get within twenty feet of him since Cas woke up. This boy is an absolute fool, but of course, that's nothing new. As soon as the angel woke up, the idgit wanted nothing to do with him… In true Winchester fashion.

The tension in the house is nearly suffocating. Sam stays upstairs mostly, coming down every few hours, pale and tight-lipped like a patron at a funeral parlor. Dean is rarely inside at all; instead he passes most of his days working on some junker, or else down at the bar. I'm the middle man, stuck alone in my study with only my books and pervasive thoughts to keep me company. If at all possible, the mood has gotten worse since Castiel woke up. Back then, we were all coming to terms with his death, but now… How in the hell do we deal with this?

"Hey Bobby," Sam's voice cuts through my reverie, and I look up from the book that I had studiously pretended to read for the past hour and a half. I had felt the floor shudder and once—though I did my best not to hear it—the single cry that reverberated throughout the house.

"Is he alright?" I ask, almost dreading the answer.

"I am fine," comes a sudden voice, right behind me. It feels so damned common-place, and yet, I never thought I'd hear it again. I spin around, and sure enough, I am greeted by a painfully familiar face. The only thing missing is that trench coat of his. Instead, Dean's guardian stands before me, his slim frame draped in an oversized shirt and pajama pants. To see him like this, with tousled hair and a bleary look in his eyes, it is hard to believe that this unassuming being had been the closest thing to God that this world had seen in millennia.

"You sure?" I ask after a pause. "What was that shout I heard?"

Cas' head tilted slightly, a frown marring his expression. "My… vessel is still recovering. My grace is still clashing with the vestiges of the…" His voice dies in an instant, and for a moment I don't understand why.

But then the reason becomes abundantly clear, as we hear the door slam shut and the heavy thud of Dean's boots against my linoleum. "Vestiges of what?" He spat out, leaning against my doorframe. "Vestiges of the souls you drugged yourself with?"

Castiel actually flinches at that. Sam took a step forward, his eyes narrowed, but Cas holds up his arm to block him. After the listless eyes that I had to endure as we dragged his hardly responsive body upstairs, I was actually glad to see the anger fill his gaze.

Dean sees it as well. "So. I finally hit a nerve, huh?" He bit out, his shoulders squared confrontationally.

Cas' lips thins. "Dean, I have apologized-" I don't remember ever hearing Cas sound so dangerous when speaking to Dean. (I try not to count his brief stint as the Almighty.) But judging by Sam's alarmed expression; he remembers it all too well. I tend to forget that, for a long time, Cas and Sam were on opposite sides of the proverbial fence.

"Oh and you think that we'll just hug and things will go back to normal?" Dean retorts. Everything about him is just begging for Cas to retaliate, to hurl back a harsh word, or some sort of insult—anything.

Dear God…. It all makes sense now. Dean isn't trying to punish Cas. Dean is pushing him, trying to get the angel to punish _him. _

I open my mouth to tell the moron off, but before I can, Cas flickers and is in front of Dean in an instant. I can't see his eyes, can't _see _the anger that he is currently unleashing upon the hunter, but I can feel it. It is a stark reminder that, even wounded, Cas is still an angel, and one scary sonovabitch. He draws himself up like a prize fighter, his bare planted firmly on the floor, facing down the much larger hunter.

And, damn-it-all if Dean doesn't look like Christmas came early.


	8. Of Chess and True Desires

((Ok… so I'm so sorry. I just wanted to play out their big argument from the eyes of a third party. I figured Sam's a good third party. Also, I'm tired of Cas being so apologetic so here's the result. Everyone in the show seems to be knocking him down hard core, but I kinda feel like his "sins" weren't all that inexcusable. Since I doubt that Cannon Cas would ever call Dean's failings into fault, I figured this one will. I hope it's not too OOC. ^^ Happy new year and as always I am so incredibly thankful for everyone who reads, favs, and most of all reviews my story. You all make my day!))

xxXxx

I had forgotten. Somehow, in three years we've lost sight of Castiel's identity—he became such a fixture that we forgot just how different, how fundamentally alien he is from us.

Looking at him now, squaring off against my brother, it comes roaring back. I can see it in the sharp line of his shoulders, in the fluidity of his motions. I never understood how anyone could mistake him for human, even his simplest gestures betray the truth. Even after all of these years, there is a certain way that he carries himself, a reminder that he is only a guest in the body standing before us now.

"Dean, I do not wish to fight you," Cas says, his voice low. "But if you need to punish me for my actions then I will not stop you."

For a moment, I hope that Dean would do the adult thing, would just say that we were happy that he was alive. I prayed to whatever god might listen that Dean would stop trying to pick a fight and say the one thing that Cas needs to hear the most.

But I guess the powers that be aren't feeling particularly generous, Dean rears back and punches him. Judging by the force he put into it, anyone else would be on the floor, but Cas barely steps back. Dean blanches and caresses his bleeding knuckle, though his eyes still smolder with anger. Cas slowly raises his hand and touches his reddened cheek as though confused.

"I thought that you would know better than to physically assault me again," he replies, though his shoulders slump slightly. I don't really understand what he is talking about, but judging from Dean's petulant glare, this scene has played out at least once before.

Dean grabs Cas' shirt, and I catch Bobby's wince out of the corner of my eye. He's thinking the same as I am; this is only going to get worse. Dean won't rest until he pushes Cas hard enough to retaliate—to punish him as hard as he is already punishing himself.

"You're damned lucky I don't punch you a few more times, you bastard," Dean growled. "After all of your crap about your loyalty to me, about how you're always on my side… You betrayed me. You betrayed me in ways I can't even begin to describe."

Cas' head dips down, and for a second I'm scared that he's going to wing off to parts unknown. But his head raises and I see his body draw up to its full height. A part of me is relieved. After weeks of seeing him wan and silent with the deadened eyes of a whipped dog, any show of defiance is a welcome change.

"I was at war, Dean Winchester," Cas says slowly. "A war that I caused on your behalf. A war that I was losing. So tell me, just what was I supposed to do?"

"You could have came to me, you ass," Dean growls. "If this whole damn war was because of me then you didn't have to leave me in the dark."

"No, I didn't have to," Cas agrees and we're all thrown for a loop. I was certain that he would protest. Dean seems to share my sentiment, because his mouth opens and closes a few times without uttering a sound.

Cas sighs. "I didn't because I couldn't face you after what happened to Sam. Because I knew that I had tried and failed to bring back the one thing that you needed. Because I knew that all I would do would bring extra pain onto you. Besides…" He stops and I can almost feel himself steel himself before he continues. "When I finally did come to you and Sam, you fought me at every turn. I asked for your help Dean Winchester, and you turned away. You had your own agenda."

"Oh, you mean piecing back the broken mess of a brother that _you_ left me?" Dean shoots back with such vehemence that I'm certain Cas has hit a nerve. Dean's pride is stinging and he is craving more. "Besides, you were already butt-buddies with Crowley long before you bothered to as my help. You are an Angel! You should have known better than to go along with anything a demon suggests!"

"I was only following your example," Cas retorts, his voice betraying the first hints of his anger. "You have worked with Crowley on multiple occasions. In fact, he was the first ally you called when you rose against me."

"He was our last resort," Dean says, but even I can hear the defensiveness in his voice. He's on the ropes now, and I think Cas knows it.

"Of course he was," he replies, his voice calm again. "He knows just how to pull us in Dean, to find us at our most vulnerable point and offer us a way out."

"Look… we could have found another way. Those souls…" Dean's sentence dies in his throat and for a long moment neither of them say a word. The silence descends on the four of us, smothering the air in the room like dirt thrown on a fire. When Cas speaks again it is so low that I nearly missed it.

"It was not the offer of souls that attracted me."

"What?" Dean breathes, his eyes wide.

"It was the offer of companionship…" Cas says, slowly pulling away Dean's remaining hand from his collar. "It was the offer of being equals. Of being more than just another piece on Dean Winchester's chess board."

He is gone before anyone could reply, leaving Dean with his hand still in the air and the bite of the angel's words ringing in his ears. He got his punishment, he got the condemnation he wanted, but he may have just thrown out something far more valuable.

I glance back at Bobby, who looks grim. I wonder if the same horrible thought is running through his head. Dean wouldn't know, has no way of knowing, because he has avoided Cas for so long.

"You idiot," Bobby says, his voice sounding rough. "You damned fool. We just got him back." I keep my mouth shut. The last thing I want is be the one to break the news to Dean.

Dean starts as though he had just woken up. "What in the hell are you talking about?" He demands, turning to me. I must have reacted in some way because he zeroes in on me like a heat seeking missile. "Sam, what do you know?"

Crap.

xxXxx

((Yup there we have it. Let the flames begin ^^;))


	9. Of Wise Retreats and Just Fates

Of Wise Retreats and Just Punishments.

((Sorry for the late update! I hope you like it. It's short, but I promise, be prepared. Things might get twisted.))

How foolish of me. To think that I could just return to what I once was. What foolish optimism caught me and planted such ideas in my head? To think that my friends would forgive me. How absurd.

My departure was a retreat, plain and simple. I just wanted to escape from the sins that I saw reflected in my former charge's eyes. I put up a good front, I think. I managed to leave just as I always had. I didn't want them to think me broken.

But I am broken, and my body seems determined to point this out to me. No more than ten miles outside of Bobby's home, my wings fail me and I meet the ground in a manner unbefitting an angel. I have not felt so fragile since my brief stint as a human and I will not claim to miss the ache of muscles, or the limitations of a fully physical being. But miss it or not, here I am, once again powerless. I push myself off of the ground, feeling my vessel protest against the treatment. My hands dig into the mud and I can feel the numerous cuts and scrapes (souvenirs from my most recent fall, I believe.) Once again, I am all too human.

It couldn't be at a worse time.

"Well now, I have stumbled across our new Lord and Savior."

I am still on the ground, struggling to even stand up. But I do not even need to look up to see who spoke—I know that voice.

"Malial…" I say, my heart sinking in my chest.

"Surprised?" I can hear the bitterness in her voice, and I know that I put it there.

"You have always been resourceful," I reply.

"Yes, resourceful," she snorts. "Isn't that why you came to me? Is that why you asked me to _bow? _To pledge my undying love and loyalty to you, our new _God?"_

"It was a mistake-"

My reply only seems to infuriate her, and my reward comes in the form of a swift kick to the side. It hurts far more than it should have.

"A mistake," she hisses, aiming another blow towards me and leaving my head ringing. I hear, rather than see, her kneel before me. She grabs a fistful of my hair. "You killed our brothers and sisters, for what? Because they did not want to fight another civil war? Because they refused to acknowledge a false God?" I look into her eyes and one thing is certain

She means to kill me.

And she has every right.


	10. Of Reunions and Reasons to Fear

Of Reunions and Reasons to Fear

It felt good to leave.

When I was fighting my war—or as Dean called it, "my great excuse—" I often yearned to return back to that place. I found myself remembering the cool feel of the leather against Jimmy's callused fingers. I remembered missing the sound of Bobby's slow measured breathing as it intermingled with the manufactured sounds of the television. But most of all, I remember the sense of belonging—of sitting within the rundown living room with the old hunter and feel welcomed.

But that was before.

I was a fool to think, even for an instant, that Dean would forgive me. I thought that… our friendship, our bond would win out eventually. But Dean… I can't get the feeling of his hatred off of me. It clings to my being like a stench, like a curse.

Why did I survive? Is this just another punishment? Was the struggle to survive not enough? Is the fact that I am little more than a shade—a mere shell of what I once was, not enough? Funny, even when I was human, I never felt so empty. No matter how helpless, how fragile I felt… I knew that I wasn't alone.

"Well now, I guess Micah was right."

I look to see my brother, Nathanial step closer, danger in his eyes. Nathanial, my quiet brother—so many looked over him during battles, even I… during my stint as God… I never bothered to track him down.

"Nathanial…" There is something in the way he approaches me, a prowl that I never saw before in him.

"We all just figured you died," Nathanial says. "You can't imagine the relief we felt… "

"Nathanial—"

"Don't. I have nothing to say to you, traitor." His lips seemed to curl away from those words. "You're worse than Lucifer."

"I was just trying—"

"YOU MURDERED OUR SIBLINGS!" Nathanial's face contorts. "So many of our brothers and sisters… killed in cold blood! By their own brother! Where was your mercy then?"

I know what's coming now. To be fair, I knew it was coming, from the instant I saw his face. He advances on me, and I see the glint of metal in his clutched hand. There will be no escape this time, and I thought that I would accept this. But now that I'm here, staring at my brother, I'm… afraid?

I don't know if I can even call it fear? Fear would imply that I have something that I am in danger of losing.

I have nothing that I haven't already thrown away.

So why am I so afraid?

((Alright, now that I'm finally starting to wrap this one up… sorry for the wait all, I just had to hammer out exactly what I had planned. Hope you enjoy it.))


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